


Only if for a Knight

by GothamsFinest



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Justice League (2017), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fun, Love Triangles, Really sweet Barry Allen, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 06:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12764652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothamsFinest/pseuds/GothamsFinest
Summary: Bruce Wayne thought Cree Hill remarkably strange. Barry Allen thought she had a spark that even he couldn't touch. What happens when both heroes set their sights on the high strung insomniac? A love triangle of superheroic proportions! Batman/OC/Flash





	Only if for a Knight

**Author's Note:**

> Had to repost this story for reasons too long and boring to write out. Sorry about the inconvenience to those who have read already. Hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it.

 

 

* * *

There was something oddly romantic about Gotham City in the winter.

The night sky was a deep shade of cobalt and though there wasn't a moon in sight, Gotham's active nightlife illuminated mine and Barry's every step. Freshly fallen snow glittered against the streets like Tiffany diamonds. I breathed in to feel the fresh crisp air hit my lungs. Winter in Gotham smelled like burning cedar and enchantment. For once it didn't reek like a steaming sewer.

"Well?"

The sound of Barry's voice broke whatever magic Downtown Gotham held over me. I'd forgotten we were even having a conversation about the movie we'd just watched.

"Don't tell me you spaced out on me," he said. "Am I that boring?"

"Boring? You? Never," I said. "Boring is what you'd call that turd of a movie we tortured our retinas with."

Stopping in his tracks, Barry gasped so hard it made me jump. "You didn't like it?"

"I don't know," I sighed, fleeting clouds forming whilst he exhaled. "Hollywood needs to stop trying to reinvent the wheel. We don't need countless reboots or reimaginings of franchises that have been released within a decade of each other. How many times will money hungry producers and trite writers show us how to skin the same cat? Can't we like, euthanize the cat and I dunno, adopt a puppy?"

"It's nostalgia for long time fans and a introduction to the lore for newcomers. I don't see anything wrong with it. And besides, it's not like the movies are bad. They're entertaining."

"Of course you think so," I chuckled, nudging his shoulder with mine. We continued walking. "You prefer derivative cheap entertainment while I like films of substance."

"Fine. Next time you pick the movie. And I'll quietly suffer while we watch ninety minutes of a pretentious silent French War film." He took the final swig of the extra-extra large Icee he'd been nursing since the movie. His red straw scraped the bottom of his drink and it made a screech similar to a third grader playing a plastic recorder off key. "Watch this," he smiled. He took the empty cup and shot it with a flick of his wrist that rivaled LeBron. The cup took off, arching high into the sky and landed in an open trash can about thirty feet away. Swish. "Booyah!"

The word sounded foreign against his lips.

"Booyah?" I repeated, throwing a handful of my popcorn in my mouth.

He shrugged. "A friend taught me that."

"I'm gonna have to meet these friends who have you using outdated nineties slang."

"Of course you're gonna meet them. Sooner than you think." he said. We stopped once we reached my final destination. The outside of my apartment complex. "I believe we're at your stop."

"Indeed we are."

"Try to get some sleep tonight."

"Come on. There's no point in even trying anymore. Me? Sleep? That's paradoxical."

"Point taken. Have a good night." Holding out his fist, Barry waited and waited and waited until reluctantly I bumped it with mine. He merrily trotted down the steps leading away from my apartment.

"Look," he spun around once he hit the sidewalk. He wagged his index finger beside his face like a parent enlightening their child. I fished for the keys that were hidden in the pocket of my peacoat. Jesus, why couldn't you find things when you needed them? "You don't want to take that bit of advice. Fine. Your hardcore insomnia will catch up with you sooner or later. But will you at least mull over some words of friendly advice before I depart. When all else fails, kiss his ass."

"That doesn't make any..." Looking up, my words turned to nothing as I realized Barry vanished. No footprints in the snow of where he may have traveled, no breeze of wind indicating he sped off, Barry literally left without a trace. "Asshole!"

The journey into my cramped little apartment was a workout. The elevator was broken, as per usual, which forced me to lug myself up seven flights of stairs. Where was the Flash when you needed him most?

I opened the dingy wooden door to my apartment, awaiting for my ankles to be affectionately greeted by Socrates the Phenomenal. The greeting I received was far from what I imagined and it didn't come from my adopted Sphynx cat.

"About time you and Barry were finished with your date."

I screamed, launching my keys in the vicinity the voice came from. Another scream, this time for help, boiled in my stomach. My hands flew to my mouth to contain it once I saw the intruder.

In my dirty kitchen, surrounded by sullied pots and pans, drinking a coffee from a cup that _my_ lips have been on, was Bruce Wayne. Bruce Goddamn Wayne.

Holy smokes.

"You're in my apartment." I think all I could do in the moment was play the role of Captain Obvious. "What the hell are you doing in my apartment?"

"Waiting for you of course."

"Funny," I said. " _How_ did you get in? I know the door is chinchy but the lock still works."

"Keys," he smiled, twirling a pair of keys around his finger. "Not the ones you threw at me, don't worry, I'm not being completely glib at the moment. Barry gave me his spare."

My coat fell off my slumped shoulders with no effort, landing on the floor with all the other junk. My popcorn slipped from my fingers and kernels rolled along creaky wooden floorboards. Could I move? Nope. This was atrophy. This was rigor mortis.

This. Was. Amazing.

It all was beginning to make sense. Barry knew I'd be meeting Bruce Wayne and wanted me to kiss his ass if our meeting was less than ideal.

Finally, I could move again and my body went into overdrive. I jogged over to Bruce with just about the biggest smile I think I've ever had.

"Cree Hill," I extended a hand.

"Bruce Wayne." His handshake was firm and direct. Would you expect anything else? "Barry has told me nothing but wonderful things about you and yet I am still surprised."

"Then why'd you think we were dating?"

"He said he'd have you back two hours ago."

"Sorry to break it to you, he and I are just friends." I wasn't sorry at all! He needed to know my current availability. My revelation affected him none. No shift in demeanor, no smile, he stared at me plainly. I switched subjects. "Speaking of friends, he told me he had some but I never would've guessed it was you. Are you the one who says booyah?"

"No," he laughed. I said something to make him laugh. He thought I was funny. "Hope you don't mind." He brought his cup of coffee to his lips. "I expected your taste in coffee to be different, considering your circumstances." Barely taking a sip, Bruce set the cup down with a grimace. "But you enjoy the cheap stuff."

"When you have to budget an unhealthy addiction like mine it's more cost efficient to buy in bulk. Taste is a secondary luxury unfortunately... _howeverrrrr._ " Tossing his coffee into the sink, I stood on my tippiest of toes after opening a cabinet. I palmed for a different bag of java, but I couldn't reach it. "Just give me a second. Somewhere beyond these cabinet walls is a pretty dope Arabica blend I got from Venice."

"You've been to Venice?"

"Of course I've been to Venice. Don't let my shoebox of a house fool you, I'm cultured."

"I believe you." Guiding my hand away out of the cabinet, Bruce shut it for me. "But the coffee isn't necessary."

"I can't have you drinking that target brand crud," I said. "You're Billionaire Bruce Wayne."

"Thank you," his chuckle was smoother than Folgers. "I didn't come here to taste your incredibly lacking coffee."

See! He was already scrutinizing me. The damage was done, but hopefully not irreversible.

"Cree Hill." The way Bruce said my name felt like a song. Like a classical piece written in seventeenth century Germany. "Why should _I_ let _you_ join my Justice League?"


End file.
